“In a moment, Zeth,” Rimon told him, picking him up with an agonized vow that there would never be the gulf between him and his son that he knew with his father.
Hank watched from his horse as Kadi embraced Abel and Margid, Jord and Willa converging from next door– another Sime~Gen couple. Then Abel went to Hank, looking up in awe. “Welcome to Fort Freedom, Henry. I’m Abel Veritt. I believe Mr. Farris has told you about our community?”
He held up his hands to help the boy off his horse, but Hank remained rigid until Abel stepped back. Then he slid down cautiously. “Mr. Farris said my father died here, and you were looking for me. I suppose to kill me, too.”
“No, Hank!” Jord said urgently. “Your father and I were friends. If only he could have known you were alive and well—”
“Let’s not crowd Henry today,” Abel said, turning to the boy. “Will you accept our hospitality? I know it’s difficult for you to believe we offer you a safe place to rest.”
As Abel shook his head warningly, the people who had gathered left in silence. Only Abel, Margid, Rimon, Kadi, and Zeth accompanied Hank into the house.
Hank looked around, eyes wide. Rimon could easily guess that the things he’d always found alien in Fort Freedom spelled “home” to Hank. In the main room, Zeth squirmed down, and hurried to get something from a basket. “Daddy, look! Mama!”
Not very steady on his feet yet, Zeth overturned the basket and sat down hard on his bottom as he tried to lift out a puppy. Another pup tumbled out, and with a happy yapping ran straight at Hank’s feet. He automatically picked it up, and got his face washed with a quick pink tongue.
Kadi, meanwhile, was asking, “What’s going on here, Abel?”
“The Whelans’ dog had pups, remember? Zeth couldn’t decide between two of them, so we brought them both home for him to make up his mind. I told him he had to choose just one. As you see, he’s made his choice,” Abel explained, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t consulted Zeth’s parents about a puppy at all. Zeth was showing his puppy to Kadi now. As she petted the oversized head with loving strokes, Rimon decided not to object. The puppy would be Kadi’s responsibility—but she’d missed having a dog since Wolf. He knelt down to be introduced to his son’s new pet.
Hank stood cradling the other puppy as if it were the one real thing in an insane world. It didn’t take Abel long to notice. “Would you like that puppy, Henry? The Whelans are looking for good homes for all of them.”
“I don’t have a home anymore,” Hank said stolidly.
“We’re offering you a home,” replied Abel. “However, if you prefer, we’ll escort you safely across the border.”
“Why would you do that? I’m a Gen, and Simes kill Gens—the way you killed my mother and father.”
Abel glanced at Rimon, who shrugged. No matter how many times they’d told him on the trail, Hank still resisted.
“We don’t kill people like you,” said Abel. “We’re in the process, of learning not to kill at all. Both Rimon Farris and my son Jord have learned to take selyn without killing the Gen.”
“But you kill—don’t you?”
“Yes. We won’t lie to you. Not all of us have learned yet. We ask you to wait until you know enough about us to decide if you want to stay—if you are Gen.”
“No if about that,” muttered Hank.
“I told you,” said Rimon, “you haven’t established selyn production. You’re a child, not a Gen.”
“How do I know that? You say Gens start producing this—selyn—in their teens. But if I were doing it, how would I know?”
“You’ll know,” said Kadi. “Somebody will tell you.”
“Kill me, you mean.”
“Not here,” said Abel. He moved so that the boy had to turn to follow him with his eyes. “But you might go into changeover. There’s only one chance in three you’ll be Sime, but there’s still that one chance, Henry, and even Rimon can’t tell yet which way you’ll go.”
“No! My parents taught me to pray, and all through this, I’ve prayed every day. God will not desert me.”
“You were taught,” replied Abel, “as I was taught as a child. But I failed to learn the dangers of presumption, and found myself Sime, convinced I was cursed. It took me years to find that it was I who had deserted God, and to return to His service.”
“You can’t preach at me! You’re a cursed Sime!”
Abel inspected his tentacled arms with an air of objectivity. “It would seem so. All of us here wakened one day to find ourselves Sime, unable to refrain from killing for selyn, though all our lives we’d been so sure it couldn’t happen to us. Henry, you’re welcome here; if you should be Sime, we’ll pray for you, as for all our own, that you’ll never have to kill. And if you’re Gen, you may remain or leave with our blessing. Come now, you’re tired. Accept our hospitality—at least to the extent of a meal and a bed.”
“Supper will be ready soon,” said Margid.
“In the meantime,” said Abel, “would you like to visit your father’s grave, and perhaps pray for him in our chapel?”
“You have a chapel? How can you—”
Abel smiled faintly. “Do you doubt that God can see and hear either side of the border with equal clarity?”
Hank regarded Abel over the puppy he still held. Then Kadi took it, putting it back in the basket. Hesitantly, Hank left with the older man. Rimon, Kadi, and Zeth joined, Margid in the kitchen as she prepared a meal for Hank.
“I hope he’ll stay,” she said. “It’s been so nice to have a child in the house—we’re going to miss Zeth. Kadi, will you eat something?”
With Zeth falling asleep on her lap, Kadi said, “As long as you’re making it, I’d like some.”
“Rimon?” asked Margid. “No, forgive me—a cup of tea?”
And he remembered for the first time that day that he was in need. And tonight… a faint chill ran up his back. Tonight he and Kadi would have transfer. What was the matter with him? It would be like every other time—the most blissful experience he ever knew. Yet prying at the corner of his mind was that strange and terrible fact: Kadi can kill.
His thoughts were interrupted when Abel returned with Hank. The boy was grim-faced, but dry-eyed. He sat down beside Kadi at the table, lost in thought.
“Abel, you’ll want Hank’s papers,” said Rimon, fishing them out and looking for his pen. Automatically, he spread his tentacles to search his pockets, and Hank started slightly. But then he just looked away without saying anything.
“I’m signing him over to you, Abel, and here’s your change. I owe you some more—can the explanations wait till tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Abel held the papers out to Hank. The boy stared at them, then up at Abel. “We don’t believe in ownership of people,” Abel explained. “But I wouldn’t advise you to destroy them. We must abide by the laws of this Territory until one day we have the power to change them. If you change over, you become a free citizen of this Territory if you have no debts to indenture you. If you establish, a Sime must technically hold you as his property– or you’re fair prey for any Sime.”
“So you own me, either way,” Hank said resentfully. “I don’t understand Sime money, and I don’t have any to give you.”
“No. Fort Freedom had to pay to release you, but you owe us nothing. You’re free to seek your own way to salvation, Hank.”
Cautiously, Hank took the very edge of the paper Abel held out, and plucked it away, as if afraid Abel would grab him.
“Go wash your hands and face before you eat, Henry,” said Margid, as casually as if she spoke to her own son. Hank stared at her, almost said something, but went to wash up in silence.
At the table, when Margid came near him, Hank held himself carefully out of her way, so that she wouldn’t touch him accidentally as she served his food. He seemed hesitant to eat at first, but as Kadi dug in, he followed suit. Then he looked up, surprised. “It’s real food! Like we had at home!”
Everyone
laughed, and some of the tension eased. “Margid is a wonderful cook,” said Kadi. “You’ll be happy here, Hank.”
The boy put down his spoon to finger the papers Abel had given him. “I can’t read these.”
“You’ll have to learn Simelan,” said Abel. “Then you’ll see they are exactly what we told you.”
Hank said in heavily accented Simelan, “I’ve already learned to speak a lot of it. I knew I needed it to escape.”
Rimon choked on his tea, both Kadi and Abel blushed, and Margid looked totally blank. This time it was not a deliberate use of foul language; but in all innocence, Hank used the verb for “learned” with connotations of sizing up a sexual partner, the word for “knew” that implied a Sime discerning a choice kill, and the word “needed” where the proper term was “required.” Thus it came out the foulest of gutter language.
“I’m afraid,” said Abel, “that you. had best speak English, until we teach you proper Simelan in school.”
“I’d have to go to school?”
“Of course. Didn’t you go to school before—at home?”
“Sure, but… You sure do act like real people.”
As Hank began to eat again, a young voice called from the front of the house, “Mr. Veritt? Mrs. Veritt?”
“We’re in the kitchen, Uel,” called Margid.
It was Uel Whelan, Dan Whelan’s son. Like all the children of Fort Freedom, he was meticulously polite before the Veritts, but curiosity was strong in his nager. He was twelve or thirteen, now, and, like Hank, showed no indication of becoming Sime-or Gen. “Mr. and Mrs. Veritt. Mr. and Mrs. Farris. Hi, Zeth.” Then he waited.
“Uel,” said Margid, “this is Henry Steers, Jr. Uel Whelan is the son of our blacksmith, Henry.”
“I wish everybody would call me Hank,” the boy said. “My father was always Henry.”
“Hi, Hank,” said Uel. “You gonna stay with Mr. and Mrs. Veritt?”
“Maybe.”
Snubbed, Uel turned to Kadi. “Did Zeth pick out which puppy he wants?”
“Yes,” she said, “the one with the white patch over his eye.”
“Well, I’ll just take the other one home, then—”
“Uel,” said Abel, “I think the other puppy has chosen Hank—if Hank wants him.”
Hank stared at his plate, then looked up at Abel. “Can I really have him?”
“If you’ll take care of him.”
Uel, apparently sensing that Hank’s rudeness had come from strain, tried again. “Want me to show you how to take care of him, Hank? I raised his mother from a pup.”
“I know how to train a dog,” said Hank, but the rudeness was gone from his voice. “This one looks like my dog, Bigfoot—his feet are too big for the rest of him, just like Biggie’s were.” He started to get up from the table.
“Hank,” Margid said warningly.
The boy turned. “Uh, may I be excused?”
“Have you had enough to eat?”
“Yes, thank you. I think we ought to take the puppies outside, y’know?”
“Very well,” said Abel. “Don’t be too long, though. You should get to bed early tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” over his shoulder as he and Uel headed eagerly to play with the puppies.
As the door closed behind them, Rimon said, “I think he’s decided to stay.”
Abel nodded, smiling contentedly. “Yes. Margid, I think you’ve acquired another boy to raise.”
It was very late by the time Rimon and Kadi had collected the other members of their household, packed up Zeth and the puppy, and gotten home. The pup, now separated from the last of its littermates, cried and cried when they tried to leave it in its basket. In order to ensure tranquillity, Kadi finally let Zeth take the puppy to bed with him. Rimon wondered if the other puppy were providing something warm for Hank to cling to, when he was afraid to let the people around him touch him.
Finally, Rimon and Kadi were alone. Rimon realized that any other month he would have chafed at the events that delayed satisfaction of his need. With Kadi at his side he was barely uncomfortable; nonetheless, it would have been more typical of him to carry Kadi off and leave Anni to put Zeth to bed.
At last he admitted it to himself: he was afraid. Since their last transfer, both he and Kadi had learned that Rimon was not the only one of them capable of killing in transfer. He had shied away from the disconcerting thoughts No, he must face it. Kadi could kill him.
She faced it for me, he thought. Then: She loves me. But the nagging thought intruded. What if she is afraid of hurting me? It doesn’t matter what the fear is. If her fear makes me hurt her—
He remembered the fear in Kadi’s nager as she faced What she had done to the Freeband Raiders, as she said, “I’m dangerous!” Yes, dangerous was the word—but what could they do? A healing-mode transfer, in which Rimon could control even if Kadi felt fear? That would only put off facing the problem to next month, making it worse. No, they had to get through a normal transfer now, or risk upsetting their relationship—maybe forever.
As Kadi came to him, however, he discovered that there was no fear in her nager. Was she acting again? He zlinned her deeply, finding no trace of anxiety. What had happened?
“Rimon, you’re disturbed. I don’t blame you for being afraid I might hurt you, but I won’t,” said Kadi softly, her nager at an emotional level that kept real fright at bay. “I think I know what Simes must face when they can’t keep from killing.”
He reached out to put his arms around her, remembering all the time he had fought the kill reflexes—and lost.
“Not yet,” she said, eluding his grasp smoothly. “It still gives me chills to remember it—that creature’s touch. But I’ve made myself remember what I felt when it happened. I can almost convince myself that I felt my own nager, Rimon. I sometimes have to look at my arms to see I’m not turning Sime. Don’t laugh at me—”
“I don’t think I could, right now,” answered Rimon, aware of the acute buildup of need as he tried to focus on her words.
“I have to say this. I know I won’t hurt you because you don’t feel to me like that Raider did. You don’t trigger any reflex in me except love and pleasure. And if I ever did have to shen you, it wouldn’t be like that.”
Some flash of scientific curiosity broke through the pall of need, and Rimon had to ask, “Like what, particularly?”
She glanced up at him, gauging his humor. “It—felt a little like when Zeth was born and you had to get selyn to flow backwards through my system, to him. That’s what I think I felt. And this unbearable—itch—I just couldn’t stand it. You’ve never done anything like that to me, Rimon—and you never will. So you’ll never make me shen you out like that.”
But Rimon was momentarily lost in thought. Had Kadi made the Raider’s system work backwards? Was that what had killed him? He didn’t remember much of the incident except his terror and the paralyzing nageric clap that had ended it.
“Now, Rimon,” said Kadi, quietly inserting herself into his grasp, fingers working their way tenderly up his tentacle sheaths until her palms closed gently around his arms. “Take your transfer; don’t be afraid of me—not ever.”
He whispered, “You control.”
“Oh no, you’ve got to face it, or everything we’ve built will come crumbling down. You do it to me, and see how much I—still—enjoy—it.”
Her nager had warmed about him, bringing need singing through his whole body. He wondered vaguely how he could do anything to her when she could turn him on and off like that. But at the same time, he found himself enjoying need itself, too caught up to appreciate the contradiction. Nature took charge, his awareness soaring into hyperconsciousness, enveloped by the purity of Kadi’s distinctive nager, as her selyn became his own.
The drought persisted. Both Rimon’s trin and the flax grown at Fort Freedom as a cash crop were nearly a total loss. The problem of taxes multiplied—even with their parents paying the head tax on the three young peo
ple in Rimon’s household, he was hard put to pay just for Kadi. Next year’s property tax loomed as a distant threat, although they talked with Jord again about moving out to their property to reduce their taxes. But Jord didn’t want to move out of Fort Freedom, and he was becoming even edgier than when he had approached the crisis before. He was fighting with Willa again, and she didn’t help by reminding him of what had happened the last time he had left her side when he was in need.
Early in the fall, Rimon and Abel were discussing financial plans with Del Erick, the only one of them who had come through with less than a devastating loss. Del said ruefully, “If you and I had taken adjoining land, Rimon, Carlana and I could move just across the property line and increase your ratio of Simes to Gens.”
Abel shook his head. “I don’t understand all the legalities, but we must do something to have Rimon’s property reclassified.”
“Wait a minute!” said Del. “Rimon, your father used to say it was worth the taxes on the Genfarm for the protection that part of the Territory got from the government.”
“But the government gives us no protection,” said Abel.
“Since our area now has a Genfarm, we just might be able to raise our own militia, or at least mostly our own people, paid for by the government. I, for one, would be willing to pay part of Rimon’s tax bill if it means I won’t have to put out a fortune to keep my fences from being stolen, and carried away on my own horses!”
“Pay somebody else’s taxes—that sounds faintly illegal,” said Abel dubiously. “After all, Rimon isn’t really running a Genfarm, and to dupe the government into thinking he is…”
Rimon wondered what kind of government Abel had grown up with. What was the government but a settled-in band of Raiders? “Well, Abel, I didn’t call it a Genfarm, the tax office did; so by their own laws, they have to protect me.”
“Besides,” said Del, “if we have a Genfarm and get a local patrol, we can kick some of the worst of the rabble out of town—so they won’t be raiding from here and bringing retaliations. Fort Freedom and the permanent residents of town make a pretty fair population. Rimon’s taxes plus mine will show an influx from this end of the Territory–”
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